Pick A Number: Hetalia
by sctwilightvampwolfgal
Summary: Pick a number, any number, or rather pick two numbers and see where it takes you.
1. Romance! Taiwan And America (& Rules)

**Thank you to the guest, Holly, for the genre and number(s). (I had to separate 61 into six and one. I'm sorry for any confusion over having to do that and over probably not expressing well enough especially with my story's name, the amount of numbers to be picked.)**

The pink flowers spelled out words that probably caught the rest of the world within their depths; will you marry me?  
Her eyes prickled with unshed tears, and Mei couldn't help her joy even as she stepped over to her boyfriend, "Why wouldn't I?"

Mei's breath left her almost like a whoosh of fresh air as she stepped just close enough to press her lips lightly against her fiancee's, and as she gingerly stepped into a kiss that dripped into her heart with the ease and accuracy of a faucet dripping water into a drain.

She could never imagine why her heart flamed up or why her lips tingled with the slightest of pressure or how come she always felt like the floor fell out underneath her, lost in the perfect bliss of Alfred's arms around her waist, pulling her up on to her tiptoes, lost within the soft and steady pressure of his lips.

Mei's eyes fluttered closed, barely any distance between them; her smile was as radiant as can be when they pulled back, and she felt the slight tremor of her heart as if she couldn't help but savor the last vestiges of that kiss.

"So was that a yes?" Alfred's blue eyes gleamed brighter than the dark blues of the American flag.

"Of course, it was." Mei couldn't help the slight giggle that toppled from her lips as she tried to pull him back in and kiss him deeper than before.

Alfred's arms snaked warmly around her waist, and it was more than enough of a reminder to her that she was loved so wholeheartedly.

 **Rules to play:**

 **Pick two numbers 1 - 103**

 **Pick any genre(Except Drama, Poetry, or General.) Note: the genre can include Parental, Sibling, or any other specific genre that may not be on Fanfiction.**

 **Give numbers and genres in a private message if at all possible. Sorry, I have to change a bit of the rules to make this story a lot safer and more compliant with the rules. Requesting through PM, title your PM, Pick A Number: Hetalia, so that I don't accidentally confuse it with anything else, please.**

 **I will write a oneshot in to this story for each pair of numbers with that intended genre.**

 **Have fun!**

 **-sctwilightvampwolfgal**


	2. Platonic Love! Germany And Taiwan

**Thank you to the guest, CeceTheFandomQue, for requesting the genre and the number(s). (Sorry, I had to separate your number as well into two numbers.)**

Curling up on the sofa, Taiwan couldn't help her smile even with how sleepy it was as her eyes were drawn to the man beside her.

The table before them was littered with old battle plans, grocery lists, and a few drawings from earlier when she'd tried sketching her best friend out with the ease of a practiced artist.

Taiwan had basically gotten nowhere, and she couldn't help her amused smile when she remembered trying to draw out muscles that no matter what she did, they never came across well on the page.

"Do you need anything?" Germany's voice rumbled beside her though she knew without a doubt that he probably didn't need to ask her anything like that at all; the day had been dragging on and yet it wasn't awkward to bask in each other's presence at all.

Mei couldn't help when she lazily traced a drawing of Germany that she'd started hours ago that didn't look nearly complete as she spun to face him, "I'm fine."

Germany's house always felt far calmer and much quieter than the her big brother's house though that always changed whenever Prussia made his presence known; today, he was out, probably hanging out with either France or Spain.

Mei couldn't help the warmth that bloomed in her chest; she could stay here for hours and then some, just to enjoy the steady warmth and the kind support of Germany, her best friend, despite how odd that may seem.


	3. Humour! Russia And England

**Thank you to Chrysanthemum19 for requesting the numbers and genre for this particular update.**

On a day that England woke up with a bad hangover after spending the night in Russia, savoring the taste of vodka and letting the fact that it was different than ale soothe him and become his steady remedy, he found a letter propped up right next to his headboard.

'Do you want to go see the sunflowers bloom with me?' The simple request felt equally like a lovelorn letter from some lady or gentleman that had somehow ended up in the Brit's hotel room and like a creepy assassination attempt from Russia.

"Really?" England glared down at the offending letter, but he couldn't stay completely wary of it, not when curiosity nagged at him without ever relenting.

His dark stare finally relented some, "Alright, fine." It didn't matter that he hadn't been speaking to someone in particular or just a letter.

Arthur Kirkland wasn't prepared to be left stunned by a small plate of an obviously Russian meal when he wandered into the kitchen area of the admittingly somewhat fancy hotel room, he'd rented for a couple nights.

What looked like Stroganoff sat hot and appetizing other than the swirl in his stomach that almost demanded more of his attention; beside it, sat a vodka bottle with a yellow bow looped around it. 'In case, you're thirsty.'

England groaned; someone sure had a sense of humor, didn't they? He was willing to bet all of his money and probably would if he wasn't even a little bit sober that Russia left that there as a joke.

* * *

Staring at the house before him, England couldn't help but question all of his life choices that led him to stand before it; would it be worth it to just walk away rather than knock on the door that undeniably held a nation behind it that he tended to rarely see eye to eye with?

Arthur figured that now of all times was a moment to be brave rather than go home after forking over the cost of his hotel, pay the more than definitely high tab that he left at the bar, quitting never crosses his mind after he's been out drinking, just usually in the morning after, wallowing in his misery inside his bed at home, and questioning the more complex meanings of life.

Yeah, he was pretty sure that this was his last shot at sanity before he ended up forced to own up to his drinking, and he was pretty sure that it would make a bold claim to how strong he is to walk right over to Russia's house and basically ask him about the letter and agree to go on either a date or hopefully a friendly outing with his cold, pseudo neighbor.

He knocked and waited what could have easily been a half an hour but was probably only fifteen minutes for the other nation to answer the door.

"What are you doing here?" Russia blearily rubbed his eyes like he'd just been asleep and shifted in a long coat that probably kept him warm while he slept. England knew that Russia could be incredibly cold, and he wasn't entirely sure that that didn't also apply to the man before him now.

"I-uh, you left a letter?" England held it up as he cursed his inability to just think and not just accuse someone right away.

"Letter?" Ivan took it out of his hand with a steady sort of grip that just made England uneasy, "Oh, letter. Come in, come in." Russia held the door open with a sort of casual grin that Arthur couldn't help eyeing.

"You left it, right?" England muttered.

"Uh," Russia shifted with a kind smile, "Probably. I dropped you off at the hotel. You were completely drunk. Have you ever had vodka before?"

The question may have been spoken innocently enough, but Arthur felt challenged anyway, "I have, and I wasn't that drunk."

"Really?" Ivan inquired as he headed over to his kitchen to grab something quick to eat.

England blinked; it had been a while since he'd so much as spent time with Russia other than at the bar yesterday, and that didn't really count for much.

"Y-Yeah," England quickly corrected his stance, "You only thought that I was completely wasted."

"So when you told me that my people were prettier than yours, you truly meant it?" The gleam to Russia's eyes immediately made England back track.

"No, no, no!" England went on, "I have as much pride as the next guy does in his nation."

"What about when you told me that I was the prettiest woman that you'd seen?" Russia obviously wasn't a woman; six feet tall of intimidating, male Russian to England definitely wasn't a woman.

"D-Did I really? I mean, no, I meant, erm, man. Sorry about that." England wasn't quite sure if he was saying the right thing at all.

"England, Arthur," Russia smiled another one of those smug smiles, "You wanted to meet up later on for another night of drinking, didn't you?"  
Arthur hated the way that he said that; it made him almost sound like a walking joke when he was drunk. Russia definitely wasn't listening to any of England's counter arguments, so may be it was best to save face and just agree.

"O-Of course, may be you were the prettiest woman when the light reflected your hair outside of the bar." Arthur wondered if he'd somehow overstepped his boundary with a sort of ease that he shouldn't be capable of.

"Oh, Arthur," Russia's purple eyes gleamed from the light coming in the window, "I thought you were the one who looks good in a dress?"

England had no idea how since he wasn't currently eating anything or for Pete's sake drinking something, but he managed to choke on his own spit. Surely, he hadn't tried on a dress the night before?

Russia, for some reason or another, looked more than a little amused when Arthur finally caught his breath and looked up; the Russian had a sneaky smile on his face, and Arthur wanted to melt into a pile of goo, because surely that hopefully meant that Russia was just pulling his leg. Right?


	4. Parental! Holy Rome And America

**Thank you to RebekahTPE for requesting the numbers and for the genre that she requested!**

It had been on a whim when Holy Roman Empire shown up on North American shores, but finding a small child there did manage to stop him in his tracks: the kid was smaller than Holy Rome ever remembered being.

The child was all starry eyes and laughter, and Holy Rome wondered if that was okay, whether it was okay to take a step away from anywhere that he should be, to step up and be the kind of parent that the kid needed.

Holy Rome wasn't quite old enough to be a parent, not even sixteen years of age if you looked at him closely, but nations never needed to be perfect, just a touch of something almost fantastical.

He reached out to pull the child into his arms without stopping to consider that parenthood meant changing diapers, balancing long distances, and somehow cooking a decent meal when usually Hungary or Austria cooked back home; Italy loved to step into the kitchen and cook though it nearly gave him a heart attack whenever he saw her small hands flittering about over the stove.

Parenthood wasn't going to be easy, but Holy Rome figured that it wouldn't be that big of a deal to be a parent now, "Just call me, Vater Holy Rome." His smile could have charmed the hearts of mothers everywhere, making them feel like cooing over how adorable of a child he was, even though Holy Rome was attempting to become a proper parent.

* * *

"America, down, away from the stove now!" Holy Rome couldn't help that his voice rose as high as Austria's did whenever he caught someone else messing with his piano.

"But, I'm hungry, and I cook all the time when you're not home." Alfred pouting, small two year old like body radiating childhood innocence, "And I wanted to cook the food that you cook the way you do."

"Okay, okay." Holy Rome blamed Italy for why he stepped forward to teach America some traditional, old recipes that Holy Rome was just learning how to make properly, "Just don't scare me like that, alright?"

"I didn't know that you were home, Vater Holy Rome," America glanced up at him with a gentle smile, and Holy Rome realized not for the first time that the child kind of looked like him though the shade of blond hair was off, just a bit darker than Holy Rome's, and he had the same kind of blue eyes set into a small, adorable face.

"May be we'll work on something a little easier to say, a little more casual." Holy Rome spoke easily enough, eager to teach the kid something more, especially as he worried about the wave of Protestantism that was currently running through his country, trying to weaken the hold of the past on his life. "How about Vati Holy Rome?" It was a say of how much this child affected him that he actually was looking forward to the more casual name that he'd suggested.

"Vati Holy Rome, can you show me how to that thing you do like this?" America attempted a wild looking gesture, and Holy Rome bit back the beginning of a laugh, both feeling too young and perhaps too old in a single moment.

"Here." He leaned over to help his 'son,' a boy that he considered his own, figure out how to cook; may be some day, he'll teach him the pastas that Feli can't stop cooking.


	5. Sci-Fi! Nyo North Italy And 2PNyoCanada

**Thank you to Soapytoast for requesting the numbers and genre for this oneshot!**

It was with a well meaningful letter and a skip to her step that the person to change Marietta's life skipped into her cabin door.

Later, she'd insist that of course she knocked first; what good person didn't knock before intruding on someone's life? Marietta remembered it from the way that Felicia stood before her in the living room and read almost dramatically from that silly letter.

Felicia had came to her upon hearing from somewhere that Marietta was a resourceful Canadian, someone who truly knew her way around the world, and could actively invent whatever she needed to keep her animals safe.

The North Italian though was a completely different kind of crazy; she bounded into situations with the determination to see it all the way through to the end.

She wanted to change the world, to know that something that she did, would truly mean something.

Felicia wanted naturally to be the leading inventor of something that not only stopped aliens in their tracks, but recruited them to join their ranks; 'Everyone has a good side, even aliens.'

Marietta had no idea why she'd agreed so readily to work with the Italian; she refused to call them extraterrestials as if the big word wasn't easy enough to understand, and she refused to take, 'no,' for an answer half of the time.

"I want peace, the kind of peace you don't hear about. The joy of connecting to avoid danger." Felicia had smiled that day, kicking her feet out in front of her when finally Marietta's patience had been tried, and she'd finally asked her for the real reason that Felicia was taking part in a mission much bigger than herself.

"Peace means something different to everyone. It means, to me, that we stop killing animals that did us no wrong." Marietta stood tall as if she wasn't the person that was the most wary on their mission.

"Well," Felicia smiled in that way of hers that always made Marietta so nervous as if the Italian had a plethora of secrets that she should never trust, "Peace is love." Felicia seemed to like simple answers, answers with few backing, and Marietta felt far too tired to argue with her. Marietta had killed more than her fair share of poachers, of inhumane humans as far as she saw them, and she'd done so willingly to protect the wildlife around her. May be she wasn't the most peaceful one, but she just felt more connected to the woods by her home than the hunters that roamed it so very often.

Marietta didn't bother asking what love was, because Felicia would undeniably give a simple answer that would infuriate her Canadian co-worker.

* * *

"It happened!" Felicia squealed, "We did it! They sent us a message back!" Felicia spun in her office chair, half bent over her desk when she paused for a moment, and she scanned the words on the computer monitor though Marietta personally doubted that Felicia could read it.

"Look," Felicia breathed, "That one looks almost like Greek, but that one's a Hieroglyph of some sort. Do you think that they know a little of each of our languages?"

"If they're creepy and stalking us, then yes." Marietta shrugged, a worn smile on her face from trying to share her joy.

"What if they're studying? Like an alien foreign planet language class? They only know a little bit of each though." Feli pouted as she scanned through the writing before her.

Marietta gave her a blank stare, but she couldn't help but be startled when the woman beside her jumped up with a quick sound and rushed over to talk with others about whatever she'd discovered that it could say; Marietta doubted that it was a particularly grand or earth shattering discovery, but she figured that at least Felicia had somewhat of a lead on it.


End file.
